A dreamy landscape, that is crafted through a sharp lens and powerful vision. I was constantly reminded of Ivan’s Childhood (1962) throughout. The rupture of innocence, and the resilience that comes with it, and Andrey Rublyov (1966) comes to mind as well for they share a language: that otherworldly feeling that was (or we think was) medieval Europe. It is a beautiful view that is starkly contrasted with the theme, the actions depicted.
Violence seems to be a natural response to our disagreements, and even though we thoroughly condemn it, we seem to not be able to run away from it. Paganism versus Christianity is the subject here, and Marketa seems to be on the side of Christians, with her intent to become a nun; yet she seems to incline towards the Pagans by the end of the film. She sees the pain that both inflict on each other for seemingly no reason at all.
The eerie atmosphere showcases what each side could offer for each side: the connection with nature, the now, which is all we have and we ought to take advantage of it; the connection with the eternal, with God and institutions that will withstand the passage of time and the passage of people, our own included.
It is no spoiler that Christianity prevailed in the end, but Marketa Lazarová’s ending crucially depicts that this transition is not a nice conversion where all the parties involved are happy and agreed to it, but rather blood was spilled and souls were subjugated. Violence, we are told around the middle of the film, is quintessential for life, for the latter has no meaning without the former.
The viewing of Marketa Lazarová is certainly challenging at first, but once again we are to remember that it is a transition period. Marketa guides us but she herself is lost in all the turmoil (as well as every character who is forced to live in the other side). This is not Andrey Rublyov, where Rublyov knows his loyalty to God, and despite all things, he works towards Him, in a very linear fashion that reminds us that the birth of Christ imposes a new time on us. If Marketa is unsure about where her loyalty lies, we cannot hope but be lost in both time and space.
The atmosphere is completed and becomes a fully immersive world with its score, that so brilliantly accompanies this travesty, in the hands of Zdeněk Liška, who crafted a haunting pulse that the weird choral and percussions accurately represent the violence, the fleeting sense of things going awry. Apart from the score, impressive is the treatment of the voices, which at times feel short, intense and withering, and at times they turn into a dreamy, echoey and lasting dialogue. František Vláčil, mimicking this, seems to be able to turn a gritty, yet dreamy atmosphere into a sempiternal film. A voice that has stayed relevant since it was released more than five decades ago.